


A Solitary Figure

by orphan_account



Category: Callan (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hospitals, Shooting, Walking, guilty feelings, random thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby walks alone at night</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Solitary Figure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Judopixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judopixie/gifts).



> Follows from series 2 episode 15, the Death of a Hunter

He couldn't go home and he couldn't bring himself to go to the hospital.

That odious, smelly creature Lonely would be there, lurking about in one of the corridors from time to time as soon as he'd get the news that Callan had been shot. The luxury of a friend at least, that's what David has. Everyone I know is either an enemy or a soon to be forgotten acquaintance.

He strolled along the street lost in thought. He wanted to feel pain or to give pain to someone so that he could feel something, anything, instead of this gnawing feeling eating him up from the inside ever since he'd pressed the trigger twice to land two bullets in David's back. The natural impulse in this job is to act before you think and Hunter's death at Callan's hands had left Toby with very little option. Even so, David could be dead (they wouldn't know until morning when the doctors finished operating on him) and that was the last thing that he ever wanted to do, hate him how much he would. Hate was a simple emotion. It was easier than analysing everything he felt for him, a mixture of admiration and jealousy, camaraderie, even love. But no, he shook his head, he mustn't think like that. Not in this job.

Toby wished David would speak gruffly at him, shout at him, joke with him, anything was better than remembering that pained expression on David's face and that look of betrayal in his eyes before he passed out. Toby wanted to look at his eyes and tell him that he cared, that he cared too much. More than I ever let on. More than, I suppose I ever will. He walked the streets from one end to another, instinctively cautious, always keeping the cover of the darkness, till the faint glimmer of the morning sun rose and saw him: a tired, solitary figure enveloped by the morning fog.


End file.
